Secrets In The Dark: John's Version of His Last Vow
by DivergentLunarShadowhunter
Summary: John has been through the war, through death and destruction. Now, with Sherlock and Mary, he is fighting a different war...one even more dangerous. But this war he is willing to win. These are the scenes that nobody saw from His Last Vow. This includes HLV spoilers, and it's kind of a canon rewrite but more like me just adding onto the story. Rated T for like two swears.
1. Chapter 1-Secrets In The Dark

John has been through the war, through death and destruction. Now, with Sherlock and Mary, he is fighting a different war...one even more dangerous. But this war he is willing to win.

The scenes that nobody saw from His Last Vow (I understand why they didn't film them, but I still wanted them to happen somewhere). This includes HLV spoilers (duh), and it's kind of a canon rewrite I guess (even though most, if not all, of the actions and words that happen during Mary's convo with Sherlock have been taken directly from a transcript of the episode). This is really just me adding onto it, not rewriting it.

Well, enjoy! This is kind of my story to celebrate that we only have one month to go until Season 4 airs on January 1st, 2017 (EXACTLY 31 DAYS I CANT WAITTTT)

Secrets In The Dark: John's Version of _His Last Vow_

John was sitting in his chair, staring at the bottle of perfume on the table, when he received the text.

The text wasn't a message, but an address. It was quickly followed by a picture that made John's next breath stick in his throat. The photo was of the front of a large building, but it was the face projected on the wall that truly scared him.

 _Mary._

He looked to see the sender, and stared at the name for an eternity.

 _ **Sherlock Holmes.**_

Rising up from the chair, heart pounding, John rushed out the door.

* * *

Sherlock waited for John outside the building, shrouded in darkness. When he saw his friend approaching, he stepped out of the darkness, causing John to jump in surprise.

"So? What's this about, then? Besides you almost dying and escaping the hospital with a severe bullet wound, which I'm going to choose to ignore for now." John waved his phone in front of Sherlock's face. "Is Mary alright?"

"She's fine." Sherlock answered curtly. Without another word, he spun around and walked towards the dark building. John ran after him, confused.

It turned out that the building wasn't really a building after all; simply a facade, hiding the trains that long ago replaced its interior. Sherlock led John into a corridor and turned to face him.

"John," he said, almost hesitantly. "If there was something you didn't know about somebody you loved, something big...would you want to know it?"

"What are you talking about?" John stared at Sherlock. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"In a way, yes. But the secret is not mine to keep. She wanted me to keep it, threatened me to keep me quiet. However, I cannot help thinking that this is something that you must know."

"But who…" He thought back to the text from Sherlock. "Mary? But what could she possibly hide from me?" This earned him a pitying look from Sherlock.

"More than you might think." John moved his mouth, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he looked stoically up at Sherlock.

"Tell me." Sherlock shook his head with a grim smile.

"Oh, no. I'm not going to do that. She is."

* * *

John sat in the chair, staring at the entryway through which his wife would soon enter. He swallowed, mouth dry.

Does he really want to know Mary's secret? Of course. Why else would he be sitting in this chair? And yet, the thought of discovering the secret without it being told to him directly makes him squirm.

 _She threatened Sherlock to make sure I wouldn't find out. What kind of secret requires that much protection?_

His thoughts were interrupted as Mary entered the room. He held his phone up to his ear and listened.

* * *

( **A/N: Bold italics is Sherlock talking during the phone convo that John is eavesdropping on between Mary and Sherlock, in case that wasn't clear)**

 _ **Quite a gambler, that woman.**_

Mary entered the corridor, staring directly at John.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" She spoke quietly, carefully.

 _ **Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where – five years ago – you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity.**_

John was shocked. _How could she possibly hide something like that? It can't possibly be true._

 _._

 _ **That's why you don't have 'friends' from before that date.**_

John's mind flashed back to Baker Street, before the wedding.

 _Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin._

 _Ah, orphan's lot. Friends – that's all I have._

He looked back at Mary as she walked slowly towards him.

 _ **It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognise a skip-code on sight ...**_

 _Didn't Sherlock say that Mary got a skip-code text when I almost got killed in that bloody bonfire?_ Slowly but surely, he was starting to realize just how big this secret was.

 _ **...have extraordinarily retentive memories ...**_

 _She does have a good memory... but that doesn't mean anything...right?_

Sherlock suddenly spoke through the phone to John directly.

 _ **The wedding, John. The murderer's room.**_

 _Yes, that's right...she remembered which room he was in…_ John's heart grew cold as he looked up at Mary.

"You were very slow." Mary said coldly.

 _ **How good a shot are you?**_

John gulped as Mary pulled out a gun and held it comfortably by her side. _How can this be possible? She knows how to fire a gun? Why did she never say anything?_

"How badly do you want to find out?" _Is she going to shoot me?_ The face of his wife was stoic as her fingers twitched on the trigger.

 _ **If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that.**_

John had to stifle a laugh as he tried to remain serious, despite Sherlock's remarks.

 _ **I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show me. The doctor's wife must be a little bit bored by now.**_

John watched as Mary took out a fifty-pence coin and tossed it into the air. He jumped at the shot. Sherlock appeared behind Mary, and she turned to look at him.

"May I see?" Sherlock asked. Mary glanced back at John, trying to cover up her surprise.

"It's a dummy. I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick."

 _Technically, she's right about the first part_ , John thought wryly. Mary kicked the coin over to Sherlock, who picked it up and peered through the hole in it. _Jesus. I can't even shoot that well._

"And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot." Sherlock was paler than usual, and John hoped he wouldn't collapse. "Enough to hospitalise me; not enough to kill me. That wasn't a _miss._ That was _surgery_." Mary looked down, and John continued to stare at Sherlock, who added, "I'll take the case."

"What case?"

"Yours." He cocked his head and stared at her with his penetrating gaze. "Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever – and, Sherlock, I will _never_ let that happen." John's heart stopped as he gazed at his wife. _It's not true_ , he wanted to say. _Keeping the secret was worse than telling me..._

"Please…" Mary pleaded softly, as Sherlock slowly backed down the hall. "...Understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."

"Sorry." Sherlock turned away and reached for the fuse box. "Not _that_ obvious a trick."

Mary's face filled with terror as Sherlock turned the light on and John stood up, placing his phone in his pocket. His face was still, hiding his inner turmoil. He glanced at Sherlock, who looked almost sad, but his focus at the moment was Mary.

"Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly." And with that, Sherlock left Mary and John alone in the corridor.

* * *

Mary's mouth opened, but no words came out. All she could say was his name.

"John," she whispered. John shifted his position and stared at Mary.

"So it's true, then." He spoke quietly, with a note of defeat to his tone. "It's all true."

"Yes, but...John, I...I never wanted you to find out. I thought...we had such a good future ahead of us, and-"

"A _future_?" John snapped, causing Mary to flinch. "A future where I knew nothing, _nothing_ about you. Where I was oblivious to the fact that you can shoot a bloody gun, and damn near killed a man with it! How could you expect to be happy with me? How could you never tell me?" His hot anger cooled as he stared at Mary, transforming into a cold block in his stomach. He shook his head. "How, Mary? How could you _ever_ hide something like this from me?"

Mary blinked back tears as she stared back at him.

"I'm sorry," she choked. "I'm so, so sorry John. I just- I couldn't-" her voice cracked and she looked away.

John fought the urge to console her, and took a step forward instead. "Mary. I know why you kept it a secret. But I didn't find out by accident. Sherlock gave me the option for me to hear your story, your _real_ story. I could've left, taken him back to the flat, avoided the meeting entirely. I _chose_ to hear your secret. And since I chose this, it is my responsibility to bear it with you and deal with it." He swallowed, glancing up to the cement ceiling, and looked back at her.

She opened her mouth again, but John stopped her. "No. I don't...I don't want you to say anything. I'm going to leave now, and I'm...I'm going to go back to Baker Street. I don't want you to follow me, I don't want you to contact me. I will contact you, when- and if- I choose to. Is that understood?"

A tear fell down Mary's face as she nodded slowly and solemnly. John hesitated before brushing past her and leaving the building. Mary did not turn to face him as he left, and John did not look back at her.

Mary closed her eyes, and sighed. There was no turning back now. The story had been revealed, and now she was alone. Now she must repair the damage- and that's if John even wanted her at all anymore. And why would he?

Mary sniffed, brushing her tears away angrily. She straightened, readjusting the bag on her shoulder, and strolled out of the building.

 _ **~Epilogue-thingy to get to exactly 2000 words~**_

 _Vows have been tested tonight. John's vows to Mary, and hers to him, spoken at the wedding that joined them together. But most importantly, Sherlock's vow to both members of the couple..._ _ **whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you.**_ _Sherlock Holmes's choice was to protect John, to be there for him, by spilling Mary's secret. Only time will tell whether the damage will truly fix itself._

 _John has been through the war, through death and destruction. Now, with Sherlock and Mary, he is fighting a different war...one even more dangerous. But_ _ **this**_ _war he is willing to win._

 _Vows have been tested, but Sherlock's vow, His Last Vow, will stand no matter what. And in exactly one month, we will get the chance to see it in action again. Sherlock will see you on January 1st, 2017._

 _ **~~End in wavy things to make it look final and cool~~**_

 **Another A/N: This story would have been a lot harder to write without the help of Ariane DeVere (aka Callie Sullivan)'s transcript of** _ **His Last Vow**_ **. Credit goes to her for writing an extremely accurate summary of the dialog and actions of the episode. She asked (politely) for credit, so here you go.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this! I wanted to write in the missing scene with John and Mary as soon as I watched the episode, and finally that has been accomplished. I did not beta read/edit this, as it mostly followed the original story (but in John's POV), so hopefully it's alright. I suck at writing in past tense, so I wrote it in present and went back later to change it to past, so hopefully nothing got messed up there.**

 **I guess I should mention here that I am in the process of writing a Sherlock/Mortal Instruments crossover fic (10k words so far), so look out for that! I plan to finish it before I post anything, so hopefully that works out.**

 **Alright, see ya! Feel free to comment whatever, if you like :)**

 _ **~Divergent. Lunar. Shadowhunter.**_


	2. Chapter 2- Secrets Brought to Light

**Sooo, I was asked if there was more to follow on this story, and I decided to try and see where this takes me. I doubt there will be another chapter after this, however. This is just a continuation of the original chapter. Hope it turned out alright!**

 **I will mention that what I wrote in about Mary and John in the hallway technically was a change from the original storyline, because the next part of the episode has a flashback to the hallway scene, where John simply leaves without saying anything to Mary (plus Sherlock is still there). So yeah, that part was me. Just sayin',**

 **Secrets Brought to Light: John's Version of HLV (part 2)**

John almost didn't go to the Holmes' Christmas party. Or at least, he'd like to believe he'd thought that.

What he _really_ almost didn't do was invite his own wife.

Sherlock had been the one to phone her, as John stubbornly refused to be the one to contact her ("It's _your_ family's party, _you_ invite her!") which had caused Sherlock to raise an eyebrow and struggle to keep quiet the comeback that had immediately formed in his mind ("Well, John, she is _your_ wife, after all."), as he'd been the one to reveal Mary's secret in the first place.

She'd answered after three rings of the phone (with Sherlock's brain thinking _been expecting the call, expected it to be John and not me, hesitant to answer, didn't want to seem desperate but she was…_ ) and Sherlock had told her in an efficient, emotionless manner that she was invited to the Holmes' Christmas party. She'd accepted, of course (well, she didn't say it directly, but Sherlock knew she'd be there), and that's what he'd relayed to John.

While Sherlock plotted the best way to sneak out with his brother's laptop (unbeknownst to John, of course) John argued to himself about whether or not he was going to speak to Mary. Sherlock's parents and Mycroft were going to be there, and for that reason he should at least try to seem like his life was going just great with Mary. But it wasn't, and so he debated whether to pretend or not.

He'd thought back to that night (was it really that long ago?) and the things she'd said to Sherlock. The things all three of them had said, back in the Baker Street flat. Mary's face as she'd handed him all of her secrets on a harmless flash drive. Sherlock's voice as he sat in his chair, silently bleeding inside as he patiently explained how Mary had simultaneously attempted to end his life and save it.

John's feelings switched between love and hatred for Mary, until the hatred dissipated into a simple frustration. Frustration at the fact that the one person he'd thought was normal was actually just as crazy as all of the other people John was acquainted with. An _assassin_ , even.

But then he found himself thinking about Sherlock's words to him. _You chose her, John_. Mary's reply that he _had_ known she was different, subconsciously _. And you married me. Because he's right…_

 _It's what you like._

* * *

The night before the Christmas party, John couldn't take it anymore. He went to bed early, stomping up to his room and locking the door behind him. He heard Sherlock downstairs, but he'd known him long enough to know that the man would leave him alone.

Plugging in his dying laptop, John pulled out the flash drive and stared at it. _A. G. R. A._ Or was it _A. G. RA_? John had always been able to recognize Mary's handwriting, and those four letters could not be more hers. And yet, they spoke of a different time, a time before John Watson and normalcy.

He'd refused to look at the flash drive for weeks, trying to ignore it every time he went into his bedroom and noticed it on the bedside table.

Finally, curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd snatched it up off of the table, determined to learn about everything that Mary Morstan actually was.

He went through the motions, plugging it in, finding it on his laptop, hovering the mouse over the icon. Right before his finger clicked on it, a bubble of text appeared in the corner of his screen.

 _Who the hell is texting me on my computer?_

He shouldn't have been so surprised to discover that the message had come from the room directly below him.

 _ **I'm sorry- SH**_

John was astonished to receive an apology from his friend. He didn't think he'd ever heard those words from Sherlock before, or at least it had been a long time since he had.

Of course Sherlock had known what John was doing. He'd left enough evidence (to Sherlock, at least) to make it obvious what he was up to. He clicked on the bubble as if to reply, but ended up simply staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. There was nothing to say to Sherlock. He had apologized, and that was it. John didn't have to ask what he was sorry for, didn't have to respond with a lie like _it's alright_ or _I'm fine_ , because it was Sherlock.

Plus he probably wouldn't read anything that John sent back to him.

So he closed the text box and went back to the folder. Taking a breath to steady him, his hand moved the mouse on the screen and his finger double-clicked on the file.

Immediately, he saw a photograph. It was obviously very old, older than any of the (few) photos Mary had shown him. It showed her at the edge of a snowy field, leaning against an icy fence. Her face was youthful, carefree. Her hair was longer, reaching her shoulders. It was also a soft shade of chestnut brown, framing her face and making her look even more innocent and beautiful.

After staring at the photo for a minute, John frowned in confusion. Hadn't Mary said that he wouldn't love her after he looked at the files? This photo looked completely harmless.

He realized that she'd probably organized it herself, putting the nicer pictures and files first. Meaning it would only get worse the longer he looked. _One more click_ , he told himself. _One more, and then I don't want to see anything else._

The next file was more like what John had been expecting: a document with details about Mary. He glanced at the name at the top, but somehow could not bear to read it. His tired eyes simply scanned it without transmitting anything to his brain. Instead, he looked at the facts.

Her height and weight, the same of course (even though Mary had never specified, his guesses were surprisingly accurate). Her age, the same. Eye and hair color, the same (except for the hair color)...

Suddenly an overwhelming feeling of guilt swept over him. What was he doing? These were Mary's files, information about a person he'd already fallen in love with. If he loved her so much, why would he still feel like he had to find out everything about who she was, who she _used_ to be? Slamming the laptop closed, John sprang up from his chair and undressed quickly before climbing into bed.

* * *

And so, Mary Morstan- or at least the woman who called herself that- went to the Holmes' Christmas party.

She hadn't meant to feel so comfortable there, with John and all. She hadn't meant to end up letting her guard down and relax, for once. She didn't even think she'd felt as calm on her wedding day (before Sherlock's speech and after the murder attempt, of course).

She was reading Mrs. Holmes's book- but pretending not to be- when her husband walked in.

* * *

John knew which room Mary was in. He'd avoided it for about ten minutes now. He fingered the flash drive in his pocket, hoping he'd made the right decision with her.

Strolling into the room, John was surprised to see Sherlock's father standing near the fire. He glanced at Mary, currently reading in a chair, and Mr. Holmes seemed to get the message.

After a mumbled excuse from Mr. Holmes about helping out in the kitchen, John paced over to the fire and sighed. Mary continued to stare at her book, pretending to read. John tried to think of what to say.

"So…are you okay?" John turned to his wife, who looked up at him with a (fake) surprised face.

"Oh! Are we doing conversation today? It really _is_ Christmas." John gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the comment. To stop her from saying anything else, he pulled the flash drive out of his pocket.

"Now?" Mary groaned. John nodded. "Seriously? Months of silence and we're gonna do this _now_?" She sighed. "So, have you read it?"

 _I did, a bit_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it to her. Did he regret looking at the two documents? No, not particularly. Did he regret turning away from the rest of the files?

 _No, not particularly._

Shuffling the pen drive in his hand, John made his decision.

"Would you come here a moment?" He asked her. She shook her head stubbornly.

"No. Tell me. Have you?" _JUST GET THE HELL OVER HERE, MARY_. He shook his head as though the anger that flamed up could be shaken away.

"Just...come here." He regretted his words as he watched his wife heave herself up from the chair, holding her pregnant belly. He reached out to help her, but she shook her head and said "No, I'm fine."

John waited until Mary was standing, facing him near the fire. He swallowed and took a deep breath. If he didn't tell her now, he wouldn't ever tell her.

"I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you. These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care." He stared into her nervous eyes and thought that his were probably giving away even more emotion.

"Okay," Mary whispered. John thought back to his words, spoken quietly to himself in the flat. His face as he'd said them in front of the mirror before brushing his teeth, to make sure he wouldn't forget them- or worse, decide to change them.

"The problems of your past," he began, "are your business. The problems of your future...are my privilege." His voice broke and he looked down at Mary, mouth twitching with emotion. "It's all I have to say," he added in a choked voice. "It's all I need to know." _Even though sometimes I might_ _ **want**_ _to know._

Banishing his last doubts, John turned and tossed the drive into the fireplace. _Probably not the best way to dispose of it, but whatever, it's more dramatic than throwing it in the rubbish, isn't it?_

"No, I didn't read it." he confirmed, as she began to cry. _I only_ _ **saw**_ _it, just a little bit_. But he didn't need to say that, not right now. And what did it matter now? The drive was gone.

"You don't even know my name." she choked. John felt tears building up in his own eyes.

"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?" he whispered.

"Yes! Oh my God, yes."

"Then it's good enough for me, too." He wrapped his arms around his shaking wife, relief flowing through him. He'd done it. He'd thrown away Mary's past, dedicated himself to her future, and the future of their child.

"All this does not mean that I'm not still basically pissed off with you." he reminded her almost playfully, even though he knew she could sense his lingering frustration.

"I know, I know."

"I am very pissed off, and it will come out now and then."

"I know, I know, I know." John smiled gently and pulled back to look at Mary.

"You can mow the sodding lawn from now on."

"I do mow the lawn!" she insisted.

"No, I do it loads."

"You really don't."

"I choose the baby's name."

"Not a chance." John shrugged. He hadn't expected to get away with that one, anyway.

"Okay."

* * *

John met Mary back at their flat, still reeling from the insane events of the night. First he'd made up with Mary, talked to her for the first time in _months_ , and thrown her entire past as an assassin away. Then Sherlock had drugged Mary (his _pregnant_ wife) and his entire immediate family at the party so that he could steal his brother's laptop. And then, of course, a black helicopter had landed in the field to take them to a billionaire blackmailer, Sherlock Holmes-style. Plus the entire encounter at Appledore, with that bloody asshole Magnussen flicking his face and Sherlock just _letting it happen_. Not to mention Sherlock had been wrong in the first place about the vaults that didn't actually exist. Which, obviously, led to lots of helicopters and bright lights and Sherlock shooting a very important man in the head in front of all of them. In the end, Sherlock had saved Mary and John by condemning himself as a murderer.

John would have to think very carefully the next time he received a party invitation from anyone in the Holmes family.

He stumbled through the doorway, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat. "Mary," he called softly, as it was currently around midnight. Walking into the bedroom, he smiled when he saw her sitting against the headboard, asleep. She must have been waiting for him.

He lifted her gently down onto the pillows, trying not to disturb her. She seemed to be fast asleep when John pulled the covers over her, but right before he moved away she grabbed his wrist. Her eyes opened a little, heavy with sleep.

"Tell Sherlock Holmes he'd better not...do anything like that...again." she mumbled, fighting sleep. "Drugging me. And the baby. That man…" she chuckled, then grew sober. "We need...to talk tomorrow...don't we?"

"Yeah." John replied simply. "Tomorrow." He kissed her forehead and moved away as his wife slipped into unconsciousness. Moving to his side of the bed, he could help but pick up his laptop.

He opened it and woke it up, the heat from the base already working its way into his thighs. Glancing at his wife's prone form, John clicked on his files and scrolled to the newest one.

He'd debated whether or not to make it password protected, but decided that Sherlock (and Mary, if she wanted to) could easily guess any passcode he thought of. Better to keep it inconspicuous, anyway.

 _It's not like I_ _ **need**_ _to hide it_ , he'd thought. _But I did lie about seeing it…so it's a white lie. Not like that changes anything._

He hovered over the folder marked "New Folder"- he hadn't yet come up with a name that would be too dull to click on but not so abnormal that somebody would know it shouldn't be there- and clicked on it.

There was only one file in the folder. A single photograph, saved and downloaded onto the computer.

John stared at Mary's face, smiling and happy as she posed for the wintry photo. He could almost imagine himself as the one behind the camera (although if he'd taken the picture it would have been awful as hell).

Smiling slightly, John closed the window and tucked his little secret back into the sea of folders.

Then he shut down the computer, climbed under the covers, and thought of Sherlock, and Magnussen, and Mary. All more similar to each other than John could have ever fathomed. Now, one was dead, and another would most likely die because of that.

But for now, right now, John thought of the third- of Mary, _his_ Mary.

 _I'll keep her safe. And she'll keep_ _ **me**_ _safe. Because I chose her, and she chose me._

 _Because even though she wasn't supposed to be like that…_

 _I chose her._

' _Cause that's just what I like._

 _ **~~The End. More wavy thingies~~~**_

* * *

 **Yay! Honestly I didn't know how this was going to turn out, but I think it was alright. This was definitely a bit harder to write, and I'm really glad I did it. Thank you for the reviewer who asked if there was going to be more- I will say, now, I've pretty much reached the end of the episode, so unless you want to see the scene at the very end with the airplane and Moriarty (if anybody wants that please let me know) there won't be another chapter to this.**

 **Hope you liked it! Feel free to leave a kudos or review/comment or whatever! Also,** _ **26 DAYS LEFT**_ **OMG.**

 _ **~Divergent. Lunar. Shadowhunter.**_


	3. Chapter 3- Vows Never Broken

**Well, let's just say I got bored. About an hour after I finished the last chapter. Wow this is like Sherlock with his cases isn't it. Anyways, I decided to write the airplane scene, just because. Enjoy!**

 **Vows Never Broken: John's Version of HLV (Part 3)**

John stood near Mary, staring at Sherlock and the airplane behind him. He'd been silent on the ride to the airfield, and he remained silent now. Mary walked over to Sherlock, and John could not tell what was said. Sherlock smiled slightly and hugged the pregnant woman. It occurred to John that this was _Sherlock bloody Holmes_ who'd just embraced his wife. Sherlock who was more reminiscent of a Vulcan than a human being. Sherlock who only showed emotion in dire situations (not just with John, even though John would be the most likely person to see it). Sherlock who didn't have friends (just one), who only pretended to be kind when he needed something from someone.

In a heartbeat, John realized why this was. He felt selfish for thinking it, but he knew it must be true.

Sherlock Holmes had changed. Because of him, Doctor John Watson. Had become more human, even. Had gained a friend, and other close acquaintances.

 _All because of me._

John was shaken out of his revelation when Mary returned. He saw Sherlock turn to Mycroft, heard him ask for a moment of privacy, and then Sherlock was alone with John.

"So…here we are." _Jesus. That couldn't have been any more lame._

Sherlock seemed unaffected by the awkward greeting. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes," he said in reply.

"Sorry?"

"That's the whole of it – if you're looking for baby names."

"No, we've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl." John punched himself internally. _Stupid_. Why did he say that? It was the truth, but he know it had sounded very rude.

Sherlock smiled. "Oh. Okay." _God bless him for not getting offended by my stupidity for once._

"Yeah." He opens his mouth, trying to say one of the many thoughts that had been whirling around in his head for…well, forever. "Actually, I can't think of a single thing to say."

"No, neither can I." In reality, both of them probably had many things to say, but most of those things could not be spoken out loud by either one of the men. There was almost a silent conversation between the two, one that had existed ever since they'd met.

"The game is over." John said, staring past Sherlock at the plane that would soon take his friend away forever.

"The game is never over, John…but there may be some new players now. It's okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end."

"What's that?"

"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind – this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. It seeks out the unworthy...and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me."

"Nice." _You're anything but unworthy,_ John thought.

"He was a rubbish big brother." Both he and Sherlock smile at the understatement. _I wouldn't want to imagine the childhood they must have had._

"So what about you, then?" John asks, clearing his throat and looking back at Sherlock. "Where are you actually going now?"

"Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe."

"For how long?"

"Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong." John could tell that Sherlock wasn't telling him the whole truth. Sherlock was staring over John's shoulder, which was a tactic that John could easily recognize. Sherlock himself would always recognize it if John had done it.

"And then what?" He had a feeling it would be something much worse than another Christmas party. Sherlock stared at him and shrugged, nonchalant.

"Who knows?" The question hung in the air, unanswered. Finally, Sherlock added, "John, there's something...I should say." John frowned nervously. "I-I've meant to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." He paused, leaving John to stare at him and wait for him to continue. John didn't think he'd ever seen Sherlock so...hesitant. _Something he's always wanted to say to me and never did? What could it possibly be?_

Finally, Sherlock took a deep breath and met John's eyes.

"Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

John turned his head away, failing to hold back the uncontrollable laughter that bubbled up into his throat. He was going to miss this Sherlock.

"It's not!" A bittersweet feeling filled John as he looked at his smiling friend.

"It was worth a try."

"We're not naming our daughter after you."

"I think it could work."

They both chuckled again, growing sober as the humor wore off. Sherlock paused before pulling off his glove and offering his hand to John.

"To the very best of times, John."

John stared at the pale, steady hand with its slim fingers. It just didn't seem right, somehow. A handshake seemed so professional, so impersonal, so meaningless. He sighed and took the man's hand in his, shaking it firmly, although he knew that little emotion could be transferred through such a small gesture.

He did understand, however, that if Sherlock had wanted to hug him, he would have. It didn't make him want to hug him any less, though. Pulling his hand back, John made a quick decision. It was the last time he was going to see his closest friend, after all.

Gently, he brought both arms up and embraced Sherlock. The man stood stiffly, obviously not expecting the gesture, but he soon softened and hugged back. John was sure his tall friend was unaccustomed to such things, so he kept it short. Not to mention he was short, almost a full head shorter than Sherlock, resulting in a bit of an awkward hug. It was still good enough, for a moment, for John to get the chance at least once to show how much he cared about Sherlock.

 **(Real quick A/N- Sorry. I had to do it. A handshake is not good enough for me. Idc if it's not canon. It should be. It's not Johnlock in this case, just an awesome friendship)**

He pulled back and stepped away. Sherlock stared after him, emotion clouding his features. The curly-haired man took a breath, returning to his usual indifferent mask with ease, and spun around without another word.

 _It won't be the last I see of you, Sherlock Holmes_. John looked on hopelessly as his friend boarded the plane. _That's my vow. To you._

He turned away and moved back to Mary, standing by the car. He watched as the plane lifted into the air and grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

John turned to get back into the car when, to his surprise, Mycroft's door opened and the man emerged from the vehicle with a phone up to his ear.

"…simply not possible." John half heard, half lip-read Mycroft's words as he turned towards John and Mary.

"What's happened?" John asked as he walked towards Sherlock's brother. _Only gone a minute, and something's already gone wrong._

Mycroft turned away and dialed another number on his phone.

"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?" He sat back into the car and reached for the door, attempting to cut John off from the rest of the conversation.

But before he can shut the door completely, John heard something coming from the car. He stepped forward and stopped Mycroft's hand from closing the door. Mycroft gives him an annoyed look before saying a single word into the phone.

"…...England."

John's eyes lock onto the small screen in the dashboard of the car, where a photo of a man is staring out at him, with a voice resounding through the car's sound system.

 _Did you miss me?_

"Oh my god," John breathed. It was Moriarty.

* * *

"But he's dead!," Mary exclaimed to John. "I mean, you told me he was dead, Moriarty." The two stood on the runway, shocked.

"Absolutely. He blew his own brains out."

"So how can he be back?" A strange feeling fluttered in John's stomach as he turned to stare at the sky, where a plane was quickly coming in to land. He fought a smile.

"Well, if he is ... he'd better wrap up warm. There's an East Wind coming."

 _Welcome back, Sherlock Holmes. I told you I'd see you again._

Little did he know that Sherlock was already lost in a complex mind palace, preparing for his return to London.

Nothing could keep London's greatest detective from London, especially not a case as interesting as this.

John supposed it was probably a 9.

The plane landed, and a new chapter began.

 **~The End~~**

 **~~Like, this is the end of the entire story~~~**

 **~~~The end of the end~~~~**

 **~~~~Why are you still reading? The story's over. Go see the end notes~~~~~**

 **Aaandddd that's a wrap for this story. Seriously this time, I promise. Wait no I don't promise, cause I break promises all the time hehe. When Season 4 comes out I might be inspired to continue this, but unless that happens I probably won't be writing any more. PROBABLY.**

 **Well, hope you enjoyed, thank you if you made it all the way to this chapter haha. I really appreciate my readers! Even if you don't review/comment/leave a kudos, I can still see how many people have read it, so thank you guys :) I will mention here that, like Sherlock, I do get bored, so if anyone has any prompts/requests for another (relatively short) story, feel free to contact me via comment/review/PM/whatever.**

 **Thank you again for reading! See ya next time, probably with my next story Demons on Baker Street, which I will hopefully start posting soon. If not then I'll see you after the holidays!**

 **~Divergent. Lunar. Shadowhunter.**


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